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November 26 2013

One Night in Kampala

Interesting Ugandan beer ad but where are the women?

Interesting Ugandan beer ad but where are the women?

Perhaps this is not what you were imagining when you thought of Uganda’s capital.  Perhaps you didn’t even know what its name was, yet alone that it might have a thriving nightlife.  If you were like most people who have never visited Africa, you probably weren’t thinking about cities at all.  For some reason especially the Western media likes to keep its news and articles about Africa safely on conflicts, disease and poverty, and of course on wild life.  Nobody can think of Africa without lions and savannahs, right? All these exist of course, and I don’t mean to diminish their importance or severity in any way, but I find it curious that they seem to take up all there is to Africa in people’s imaginations.  After all, the Nobel Prize winning intellectuals like Kofi Annan and Wole Soyinka also come from this continent that many people automatically associate with huts with no electricity – and maybe with soccer thanks to the 2010 World Cup in South Africa – rather than with cities, culture, universities, and nightlife.

Kampala's music scene is thriving, including many aspiring hip hop artists.

Kampala’s music scene is thriving, including many aspiring hip hop artists.

Once we manage to exit the nightclub we feel the kind of demanding hunger hitting us that can only find you after a few too many beers.  Surprisingly enough we run into a boda driver, Amuli, who we both knew: he’s just been driving our group all around Western Uganda on our road trip just a few days before, including on a safari in the Murchison Falls National Park, where we saw, among many other animals, a lion. But now we were in the city and he was driving a boda, a motorcycle, which is the most common kind of a taxi in Uganda, and the easiest to get around in the traffic jams of Kampala.  We were all as excited to run into each other and he took us on a hunt for a night snack.  We wanted some barbequed meat, a ubiquitous snack that is easy to find even at 4.30AM, except that I really wanted liver, which complicated things. But I really liked and craved the Ugandan way of roasting cubes of liver on a stick, and besides, I was leaving Uganda the next day and wanted my last fix of it. Luckily Amuli seemed to know a place.

At a food stand, picking out favorite BBQ meats.

At a food stand, picking out favorite BBQ meats.

Once we arrived at the food stand, it must have been closer to 5AM.  We were checking the stand for its offerings but were also spotted by a bunch of revelers, who seemed to have a house party next to us.  They were shouting “muzungus, muzungus” and came to grab us to the party.  Once again we were a desired party addition.  “Muzungu” quite literally means a “foreigner,” but in practice, particularly a white foreigner.  If you’re white and traveling in Uganda, you’ll hear this term many times a day, but it’s more descriptive than derogative, so you won’t mind hearing it.  Here too, it caused more excitement than anything else: “Foreigners in this neighborhood at this hour! They should come to our party!” We were very tempted by the enthusiasm by which we were invited but had to turn the offer down, only because we still had not found our desired snack.  By the time we did, and came by the party house again, it had closed down.  In retrospect, as it was now probably about 5.30AM, this was just for the better.

The previous day, during a boda tour of Kampala.

The previous day, during a boda tour of Kampala.

The next day, as I was getting ready for my flight to Ethiopia, we were entertaining my friend’s wife with our stories from the previous night, as she had gone home much earlier.  Before it hit 4.30AM, we had run into other friends with whom we shared many laughs while drinking waragi, a Ugandan gin. Later we visited a reggae bar where an intoxicated Italian told me to visit the Rastafarian community in Ethiopia because they have the best marijuana in the world (apparently I was a complete loser if I didn’t) and who associated my name, Piia, with the sound that a gun makes when fired. Go figure. We had also had to pretend to be married so my friend wasn’t hijacked by an eager working girl, who claimed to be very very lonely, but was also visibly very very drunk. And in one club a woman got angry at me for taking her chair while ordering drinks but after I promptly gave it back to her, she insisted becoming my Facebook friend and I still receive messages from her.

Just another night in Kampala.

Besides using Western methods, Ugandans make home made beer out of one of the many types of bananas that grow there.

Besides using Western methods, Ugandans make home made beer out of one of the many types of bananas that grow there.

November 21 2013

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Real People #14: Mohamed worked as a waiter at my favorite restaurant in Siwa, an oasis in Egypt, close to the border with Libya. After having helped us find a driver, he joined me and two Danish girls on an impromptu trip through the desert. Obviously having a good time, he told me he needed a break from the very controlled life in Siwa. I remember him as a great belly dancer.

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November 19 2013

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Real People #13: Hussein, the eldest son of the Bedouin family I was staying with, treated these mysterious structures, in a very remote place in the Sinai desert, as his own private playground. No-one knew who had built them and why, but he for sure was proud of them.

November 15 2013

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Real People #12: Ali had asked if anyone wanted to spend the night in the Sinai desert with a real Bedouin family. I was the only volunteer. For hours I sat around the campfire with this grandmother, connecting without words. The full moon made the desert even more surreal.

November 14 2013

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armenianhighland:

An Armenian tribute bearer carrying a metal vessel with griffin handles. Fifth century BC

November 13 2013

Not All Iranians Have Beards

Mosque in Kashan, a city at the edge of the desert

Mosque in Kashan, a city at the edge of the desert

‘Do you come downstairs with me? I want to shower you.’ I’m not awake enough to react when my host asks me this. It’s still the middle of the night. I don’t get the point of why he wants to shower at that hour but there I probably missed the chance for a new intercultural experience. It’s my 4th night in Iran, not the most popular destination in 2013, but the perfect choice for me: a lot of culture, stunning mountains, deserts, friendly people and unexpected questions. I’m sure many of you think of a country populated by women in black chadors and men with long beards, praying most of the time. Both do exist, but they are at times hard to find. And you’ll hear far more prayer calls in Turkey or the Arab World.

Waterpipes are ubiquitous in Iran

Waterpipes are ubiquitous in Iran

Iranians do their best to prove that they are very different from what the outside world assumes: Women invariably tend to throw their headscarves off whenever they have the chance, considering it a form of obligatory decoration. Most men shave their facial hair fanatically, so if you love bearded men, better go to Berlin. Many families distill wine and brew beer at home, but be prepared for the wine to taste different from what you expect. I had a few glasses of shiraz wine in Shiraz in the middle of the day. It was actually the best brandy I’ve ever tasted. So the grapes are still there, but unfortunately the knowledge for winemaking seems to be lost for now.

Lotfallah Mosque in Esfahan

Lotfallah Mosque in Esfahan

Another ubiquitous thing is Facebook, officially forbidden, but even the guy who ran ‘hole in the wall’ falafel place in a border town asked us to befriend him. The Iranians are rebellious by nature, always looking for new opportunities to practice freedom. The same goes for the gay scene in Iran. Some people made it sound like I would get hanged upon arrival at the airport. But it wasn’t all that bad. Several gay guys told the same thing: they are not a priority for the government. Many are visible with their face on online meeting forums. And they party as crazy as all other Iranians, behind closed doors of course. It’s quite different from the scene in Turkey, where we are able to organize a gay trip.

Posing with the car of a friend, I would love to drive it

Posing with the car of a friend, I would love to drive it

One of the most amazing moments of the trip was after we had decided to leave Esfahan. Esfahan is by most tourists considered the prettiest place in Iran, but the traffic in town can be nerve wrecking. After 6 hours of travelling east through the desert, we reached the place of ‘a friend of a friend’. Iranians are one of the most hospitable people on the planet and this family was no exception. To our surprise, he had planned that evening a party in the desert. You would think 20 people and a campfire, right? There were actually 600 people gathering on a salt lake, much further out in the desert. 15 buses in a circle to bock off the light, a great DJ, plenty of crazy, fun people… a complete explosion of positive vibes.

The party, of course with no recognisable faces

The party, of course with no recognizable faces

To make things better still, there was a campfire with people jumping over it. It’s a ritual dating back to pre-Islamic times, still widely practiced at Nowruz, the Iranian New Year. It’s a sort of cleansing ritual as far as I understood. Besides of that there were quite a few people performing their acrobatic skills in the midst of the crowds, it was such an expected happening for me.

The weirdest thing was that after two hours the gathering stopped abruptly and a few minutes later, it was all gone, leaving no trace in the desert. Interesting. And what was even harder to believe was that most of the people had travelled by bus for about 10 tot 12 hours to attend this. Several people told me they just want to feel free. And that’s a bit easier in the desert with no immediate control, while being at an awesome party.

Self portrait at the salt lake

Self portrait at the salt lake

More posing in the desert

Posing in the desert

November 11 2013

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Real People #11: Nubians, who don’t have their own country but live in Southern Egypt and Northern Sudan, are known to be smart, peaceful and honest. Habibi and his friend were no exception: we spent a few lovely, lazy days on Habibi’s boat on the Nile, escaping the July heat. 

November 08 2013

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Real People #10: This pianist in Rick’s Cafe, Casablanca, claimed he never tires playing the famous song, but the many times I heard “play it again, Sam” in one night makes you wonder.

November 05 2013

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Real People #9: One of the first things you learn in Morocco is that tea is supposed to be poured into cups from as high as possible. Hassan makes no exception as he serves us tea at his aunt’s house in Zagora, after a lovely lunch at his uncle’s a few blocks away. Real Morroccan family way.

November 01 2013

Beyond Tacos and Burritos: Mexican Food Globally

I live in New York where we’re blessed with amazing food from all around the world: you can get Syrian falafel, the best sushi I’ve had outside Japan, Georgian kachapuri, Vietnamese pho, Chinese dim sum, you name it. Mexican food is no exception. Yet recently I had visitors from Finland, who were upset about the food in a great Mexican restaurant I sent them to, because a dish they had ordered had “a weird brown sauce” that they had never seen in the Finnish tex mex places. This sauce turned out to be mole with chocolate, which they didn’t like only because it was too authentic.

A fancy version of chile relleno, stuffed with seafood, in a high-end Oaxacan restaurant.

A fancy version of chile relleno, stuffed with seafood, in a high-end Oaxacan restaurant.

Mexican food’s popularity reaches far. Last January, when traveling in Uganda, we were looking for a late night dinner in a town called Masindi. After a long day of traveling on dusty roads, we were absolutely ravished. Luckily we found a dark, little corner restaurant with barely two lighting fixtures, ordered some Bells (a Ugandan beer), which were not exactly cold because there had been a problem with the fridge earlier that day, and took a look at the menu. Turned out that most things we wanted to order were not available as it was the end of the day, except for “fajitas,” which the waitress pronounced something like “fagitas.”

We were a bit skeptical but happy to get anything at all so we ordered fajitas in a corner eatery in a small town in the middle of Uganda. What came to our table was a good example of globalized food trends: we had tiny little dishes, as in an Indian thali tray, of chopped tomatoes, jalapeños, something that resembled sour cream, chopped onion, and ground beef with some Mexican spices. Instead of tortillas, we were given Indian chapati to wrap it all in. There was a hot sauce of sorts. The Indian influences were not a surprise as Uganda has a sizable Indian population, so the Indian food there is excellent and chapati is everywhere.  What was more surprising was how good it all tasted and oddly enough, it sort of even tasted like Mexican food. Or at least close enough to the international interpretations of it.

Danny is slightly excited about his Oaxacan mole dish.

Danny is slightly excited about his Oaxacan mole dish.

My favorite type of Mexican food is neither the Ugandan fajitas (as good as they tasted after a day on the road), nor the Nordic tex mex, or the Californian version of Mexican food a lot of my New York friends love, but the regional food of Oaxaca, Mexico. I guess I’m one of those, who agree that Oaxaca is Mexico’s culinary capital. And actually it is where the mole sauce my Finnish visitors didn’t like originates. I don’t mean to be a food snob here. Mexican food in all varieties tastes good. You just cannot go wrong with that mixture of tomatoes, onion, garlic, cumin, chili and fresh cilantro. And yet, these combinations taste better yet in some places than others.

Food stall heaven in Oaxaca.

Food stall heaven in Oaxaca: where some of the best food in town can be found.

Before I visited Oaxaca, I had been to Mexico City, and absolutely loved the food there already.  I’ll never forget the dirt-cheap, late night tacos al pastor (with pork and pineapple) or the pre-Hispanic pumpkin seed mousse that I dipped my tortilla chips in. But Oaxaca still made me go “vow” with the food.  First of all, there are the moles; they are rich and complex sauces that are based on different kinds of chilies, served over meat, and are made of a blend of up to 30 spices. While there can be hundreds of variations of them, Oaxaca is particularly known for seven: mole negro, colorado, amarillo, verde, chichilo, coloradito, and mancha manteles.

Bargaining for zucchini flowers at the market.

Bargaining for zucchini flowers at the market.

All of the Oaxacan moles have a distinct texture and taste based on a different mix of spices and herbs, as well as seeds, nuts, and of course chocolate in some of them. One day Danny and I were in Oaxaca, we took a cooking course that started with a trip to the market with the chef, followed by making stuffed zucchini flowers, our own tortillas and chicken in a mole verde, green mole.  I try and take a cooking course in each place I visit because it’s a fantastic way to learn about the local food culture. This course was no different.  Our chef was a little shy, but only until we got to the market where he got to his apparently favorite pastime: bargaining for the freshest ingredients.  We found all the stuff for our feast in one lively, covered market, and saw piles of cooked chapulines, spicy grasshoppers that Oaxacans eat as snacks and as fillings in for example tacos.

Danny trying his hands on making tortillas.

Danny trying his hands on making tortillas.

The actual cooking took place in a quiet, spacious, open-air courtyard, covered with trees.  As the chef explained the steps for each of our dish and gave us tasks, we were sipping beers and chatting: a perfect Oaxacan afternoon. Making tortillas turned out not to be all that easy as getting the thickness and shape just right is trickier than it seems.  The green mole was an amazing surprise.  The intense color comes from a variety of green ingredients: two kinds of green chilis, raw pumpkin seeds, sesame seeds, lettuce and Swiss chard, and green tomatoes.  Add in onion and garlic, and of course heaps of fresh cilantro and parsley.  One of the best Mexican dishes I have ever had, and not easy to find in European tex mex places, or even in New York.

Our green mole, cooked in the courtyard.

Our green mole, cooked in the courtyard.

Oaxaca is definitely a foodie destination already because its inhabitants live to eat and it shows in the quality of the food: it’s all made with love. It has world-class high-end restaurants, several types of cooking courses from gourmet food to home cooking, excellent opportunities to taste pre-Hispanic dishes, and of course the ubiquitous and always tasty street food.  One of the best things to do in Oaxaca is to sit people watching at night around the Zocalo, the main square, sipping a drink and trying the delicacies from the food stalls.  The only problem is that you’ll not be able to taste all of Oaxaca has to offer in a week. After having visited Oaxaca, I have to admit it’s a little difficult to visit a Mexican restaurant anywhere else, but I try and not compare as these are matters of taste and what you’re used to.  An example of this is how Finnish people love pizza, but their own version of it.  So when I visited Italy the first time a long time ago, I thought Finnish pizza was better than the one I had in Rome. Secretly I might still think so.  But for Mexican food I’m a convert.

The chef himself showing how tortillas are made.

The chef himself showing how tortillas are made.

October 31 2013

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Real People #8: What seemed at first the worst place in the world to get a flat tire turned out not to be a problem. Hassan and Karim were used to crossing the Atlas mountains from Marrakech, where they studied, to Zagora, where they were from: they were as used to changing tires.

October 29 2013

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Real People #7: I know Morocco quite well, but it was a challenge to guide a group that included Moroccans from Belgium. This woman enjoyed the trip a lot, as the start of her sabbatical year. Picture taken on the way to an overnight camp in the desert.

October 24 2013

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Real People #6: This Berber father and son run a remote oasis town antique shop near Zagora, Morocco. After a shop tour, plenty of tea and pouring a pile of silver in front of us, they kept their promise of no pressure to buy: a rare gift in Morocco.

October 22 2013

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Real People #5: Marietta and her friend didn’t have a clue about the local customs in Egypt. Men kept flocking in, too bad my camera broke because of too much sand. Maybe they just wanted a bit of attention?

October 18 2013

Lada Macho

Armenia always had this ‘far away and yet close’ feeling for me: I have been 3 times near its border from different directions, before I actually crossed them. Piia had been there before and was raving about it, so we went there together. After spending a night in Tbilisi, capital of neighbouring Georgia, we got in a van that brought us all the way to Yerevan. What struck me first was that the main highway between the two capitals changed into something of a back road once across the border. I didn’t know much about the country, except for the infamous Armenian Genocide that has created Armenian enclaves all over the planet. I had made several visits to Aleppo’s Armenian Quarter and also to Bourj Hammoud in Beirut, curious about Armenian culture and Armenian food. Armenian food is quite unique, influenced through centuries by countless civilizations, tribes and traders.

The countryside is both mysterious and peacefull

The countryside is both mysterious and peacefull

Not many people seem to have a clue about Armenia. When I told a clerk, at the international business counter of a Belgian bank, that I would go scouting for new trips in Armenia, he told me bluntly: “I would not go to such a country known for its Islamic terrorists’. I was a bit shocked by his prejudice and lack of basic knowledge while he works with international matters, but well, it’s quite an unknown country. Not only is Armenia the first Christian country on earth with some of the oldest universities in the world, settled at a time when Belgium was still a swamp, it’s also peaceful and very safe. Armenia is very isolated, because its longest borders, the ones with Turkey and its ally Azerbaijan, are closed since the Caucasus got independence from the USSR more than 20 years ago. That makes the country not receive much traffic from other countries, but that’s a huge relief for someone coming from a small, traffic-congested country like Belgium. The Armenian countryside dotted with ancient churches is a paradise for photographers and lots of it is pretty deserted, making a big contrast with the artsy, buzzing Yerevan.

The Lada brought us everywhere

The Lada brought us everywhere

This peacefulness and seemingly manageable traffic made me consider to do something I hadn’t planned to do: ‘Rent a car’. Normally I would never even consider this in a country where I can’t communicate or read anything. Especially in the countryside, people just speak a bit of Russian, but that’s it. And good luck with the Armenian alphabet, which seems like it’s taken from Lord of the Rings. Since I really wanted to go to the South and public transport isn’t an option in such a sparsely populated area, I decided to take the challenge. And the challenge became even bigger: the rental agency had only Lada Niva’s, the former pride of the USSR. I nearly crashed the car during the first minute, but after that it all went smoothly.

Karahunj, one of the oldest man made structures on earth

Karahunj, one of the oldest man made structures on earth

The weird thing is that I actually became proud of the car, as you can see me posing as ‘Lada macho’, assuming I would use if for my blog at some point. I doubt I’ll be a trendsetter, but who knows, at some point it might be ‘vintage chique’. But one thing I’m very grateful for: The Lada enabled us to drive on a slippery mountain road towards Karahunj, which is a 7500-year-old observatory, 3500 years older than Stonehenge and together with Gobleki Tepe in South-Eastern Turkey, some of the oldest manmade constructions. In my guidebook it said that the guards would be try to rip you off in all ways, but we ended up having tea and biscuits with them while watching the sunset. No money asked! After our roadtrip to the South, we made it back to via the awesome Lake Sevan to buzzing Yerevan with it’s many café’s and the famous Ararat Brandy distillery. But that story is for a next blog!

Brandy tasting, a great way to spend your sunday afternoon

Brandy tasting, a great way to spend your sunday afternoon

October 09 2013

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catarinalexandrasantos:

Adventure | via Facebook on We Heart It. http://weheartit.com/entry/81172536

We’ll get behind this sentiment anytime.

October 07 2013

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Real people #1: In the Sinai desert, Egypt, using an illegal road to shorten the trip, Liis from Estonia seems a bit worried. But we made it just fine.

October 05 2013

The Beauty of Darkness

Posted by Piia in Nomad Stories
I woke up in the middle of the night by a pressing need to go to the bathroom. But the problem was that I couldn’t see anything, and by anything I mean absolutely nothing. I blinked and realized that it made no difference whether I had my eyes open or shut. I had left my flashlight next to my bed, but when I tried to reach for it, it was nowhere to be found. I didn’t want to run my hand on the floor too far to look for it, because we were in an eco lodge in Uganda, in Budongo Forest Reserve, and I remembered the little gap between the door and the floor. 
We had some tire problems on our way to the Budongo Forest.
We had some tire problems on our way to the Budongo Forest

We were staying at this beautiful lodge only one night so I wasn’t so clear on the dimensions of the room, but I knew the general direction of the bathroom.  So I figured I could probably find the bathroom door and switch the light on there.  I got up and fumbled in the dark, forward a little step by step, towards the direction of the bathroom. I was able to find the wall, but then I had no idea whether the bathroom was to the left or the right from where I had landed.  It’s a good thing I’m not afraid of the dark, because this could have potentially been pretty scary.

Now, as a nomad, I’ve been to some pretty dark places before, like Lapland during the winter when the sun doesn’t come up at all. And yet even there, you would see the reflection of the moon, even on a cloudy night, on the snow.  Or some glow from some electric device if inside.  But here, there was absolutely nothing, only utter, complete darkness. We were in an eco cabin, in a rain forest, in a national park, far from a city with very tall rain forest trees covering the cabin, so of course I shouldn’t see anything, but the experience, as it came by surprise, was a first of its kind to me, and because of it, all the more memorable.

Vines cover the trees in the rain forest.

Vines cover the trees in the rain forest.

I had to turn around, back towards the bed, simply because I didn’t know how to continue with my search for the bathroom.  I was able to find my bed, but in the process of climbing back into it, I accidentally knocked down my mosquito net.  By the time I was lying in the bed, I couldn’t help but giggle to myself. It was just so hard to believe my utter helplessness. But even as I was amused, I still needed to go to the bathroom. Good thing I saw Kemal, one of the people I was sharing the cabin with, put on his flash flight: I was saved as he pointed the way to the bathroom from his bed.

One of the many types of lizards that live in the Budongo forest.

One of the many types of lizards that live in the Budongo forest.

The next day I was thinking about the role of the deep, dark African jungle in European literature. As I was experiencing it, I quite enjoyed the actual, literal concept, but I’m not a fan of how it has been used as a metaphor for all of Africa as somehow dark and unknown and wild. Lapland in the winter can be all those things, too.  I know it’s a 19th century stereotype fueled by prejudices, but unfortunately these kinds of things tend to persist in people’s imaginations. But when you don’t connect the amazing darkness to fear and negative things, it becomes beautiful in itself.  And it’s rare. I’ve traveled a lot, and had never experienced something like it in an open space like a big cabin.  I didn’t even know there were degrees to darkness, this being a full 10.

There was another gift we received from the darkness of the rain forest earlier that evening. We were having dinner at the lodge’s main building, after a successful chimp trek of many hours. We had seen two male chimps and a mother and a baby, and the rain forest trek in itself was a rush. The chimps had moved deeper into the forest than usual so we had to get off the grid of paths to find them. Our ranger was breaking twigs so we could find our way back: added excitement, especially as we made it out of the forest only just before it got dark.  And the chimps were a hoot: they looked so human like that I couldn’t help but wonder whether they were observing us rather than we them. Having a lovely dinner on the terrace with some wine, we were feeling happy and accomplished, talking about our trek.

The young male chimp observing us.

The young male chimp observing us.

Then Kemal went to get something from our cabin probably about 30 meters deeper in the forest and came back, excited, to get Danny and I.  We followed him to see what was happening, and it was one of the most beautiful things I have ever seen: thousands of fireflies dancing in the air, as if a long string of blinking Christmas lights.  I’ve seen fireflies before but never so many together, and never somewhere so dark.  They literally lit up the section of the forest by their dance.  I was feeling even happier as we witnessed the beautiful performance, which could have not happened in a place with distracting light pollution: sometimes you need to be somewhere really dark to appreciate its beauty.

A sunset in the Murchison Falls national park, north of Budongo Forest.

A sunset in the Murchison Falls national park, north of Budongo Forest.

October 02 2013

A Tale of Two Mesopotamian Cities

I remember having heard about the Rivers Tigris and Euphrates, and the land between them called Mesopotamia, endless times at school, but, when I finally visited the region in 2011, I had no idea it would make such an impression. Glued to the bus window, I took in the scenery along the river Tigris, running via Baghdad all the way to the Persian Gulf, as we were approaching Hasankeyf, in Southeastern Turkey. Sometimes school history books seem to get it right: this ancient region is worth every mention.

River Tigris at sunset

River Tigris at sunset

Hasankeyf immediately charmed me with its simultaneous calmness and the tangible presence of history, while it also made me feel as if I had been there before.  Not a firm believer in past lives, I still couldn’t help but think that maybe I had lived there before: Hasankeyf is supposed to be one of the earliest places where people lived together in organized settlements. There are cliffs with carved cave dwellings and steps, there is the river with water even in the driest months, a beautiful historic bridge and Islamic architecture. The hot summer sun seemed to be color everything in beautiful shades of white and beige.

Not really an overnight place, my friend, Danny, and I still decided to stay and immediately met, as if by magic, a charismatic young man, oozing inner peace — a native of Hasankeyf, who had recently returned to his economically deprived hometown after working in Istanbul for years.  He seemed like someone whose disciple one might easily volunteer to become, but with all humbleness he helped set us up at his friend’s place, an unemployed man in need of some extra cash. Next thing we knew, we had our luggage stored in the ticket seller’s booth so we could go explore the ancient cave castle.

Hasankeyf's cave castle

Hasankeyf’s cave castle

As soon as I fell in love with Hasankeyf, I found out about its fate: it’s to be buried under an artificial lake. Preparations are already under way and apartments are being built for the residents up the hill from the historic center.  A group of activists working to save the town invited us for an afternoon tea and pointed out that while Hasankeyf fulfills 9 out of 10 requirements for the UNESCO World Heritage List, one of the few in the world to do so, it’s not on the list because the government would have to endorse it for that honor. And they need it for the lake.

With bittersweet feelings about all we had seen and learned, we had some tasty Tigris trout for dinner and had tea on the main street with our new friends, before going to sleep under the stars in the garden of our host, a Tom Waits look-a-like.  In these parts of the world, elevated beds on wooden platforms are common.  The arid summers with no mosquitoes or dangerous animals provide a perfect setting for a sleep outside. I can’t claim I slept particularly well on the thin mattress, but the experience was well worth it, as if by sleeping outside, we were a step closer to history.

Before leaving for Mardin, our next Mesopotamian city, we had morning tea and a walk with our host, who charmed us with his curiosity and intelligence: we managed to talk about religious beliefs and Turkey joining the EU with only a few shared words of English, German, Arabic and Turkish between us. We paid as agreed, “according to our conscience,” which we decided should be as much as we would have paid for a room in a decent guesthouse.

Morning tea with our host

Morning tea with our host

I felt a bit melancholic but also enlightened sitting yet again in a bus, this time from Hasankeyf to Mardin, another ancient town but on a hilltop, close to the Syrian border. Was it the historically famed setting that made me feel a bit elevated? Or the awe-inspiring, white washed scenery? Or the encounters with the people I can best describe as wise?

The bus dropped us off at the foot of the hill on which Mardin stands, and even though the walk would have been short, the June heat demanded us to take a taxi. An old Arab trading town, Mardin turned out to be completely different from Hasankeyf, but equally impressive.  It was bigger with a selection of excellent hotels and restaurants, more affluent and modern, but only a bit, as if from a different phase in the history of Mesopotamia.

Mardin with a view over the Mesopotamian planes

Mardin with a view over the Mesopotamian planes

Tired from the previous star lit night and the bus ride, we again lucked out and found the perfect place, even if the polar opposite of our outdoors platform bed: a stunning old Arab merchant house transformed into a luxurious hotel.  Complete with Arab fairy tale style, the hotel reminded me—as did much of Mardin—of Aleppo in Syria, which used to be one of my favorite places in the world. The hotel was in the middle of a small but bustling souk, where fruit vendors passed free cherries and apricots to us as a welcome. Resting on huge pillows on one of the hotel’s courtyard nooks, sipping mint tea, it seemed no wonder this place was a honeymoon destination for the Turks.

Lunch at the women's collective

Lunch at the women’s collective

The next day we had a delicious lunch at an organization helping women recover from domestic abuse, tasted locally produced wine with our dinner, and just before moving on, encountered a little boy I gave a kite I was going to mail to my godson. The look on his face, flying his Superman kite in the narrow streets, was one of the happiest I’ve ever seen. To provide more merriment, Danny, an expert map-reader, who never gets lost even in the biggest cities, kept losing his sense of direction on the one street on top of the hill! I suspect his pleasant confusion and letting go were due to the dizzying effect of the two different Mesopotamian cities.

Locally produced wine out of tin cups

Locally produced wine out of tin cups

September 27 2013

“I don’t wanna go to Mexico!”

That was my first reaction when I discussed a potential winter destination with my travel buddy. I’ve always been excited about the Middle East and Asia, so something in me said ‘No’ to the Mexico plan. I had quite some stereotypes in my mind, probably shaped by American movies, in which the bad guys invariably tend to escape to Mexico, crossing the border illegally. The country is often portrayed as dry and dusty, with men hanging out in front of dodgy looking motels and uninviting roadside bars. But since my travel partner had just started to study Spanish, I agreed with a Spanish speaking country. Also my landlords had made countless attempts to invite me to their new home on the coast of Oaxaca, making it sound like the ultimate hippie heaven. The hippie part was not a real draw card, but who says no to a potential relaxing holiday spot at the beach? By the time we had bought the tickets, the Spanish classes were dropped. But no complaints since I wouldn’t have agreed to go without them.

Night markets on the Zocalo

Night markets on the Zocalo

Awesome colonial architecture

Awesome colonial architecture

The trip started a bit troubled with a snowstorm in New York, creating a total chaos at JFK. So I arrived a day late, and originally I had only planned to stay two nights in Mexico City, a bit frightened by its reputation of pollution and crime. Even for a seasoned traveller, certain stereotypes stick. I had arranged to stay with friends of friends for 2 nights. What happened next was that I completely fell in love with Mexico City, and got invited to stay longer and celebrate Christmas together with my hosts. I stayed in Zona Rosa, the gay neighborhood. What surprised me most about Mexico City, and also other places in Mexico, was the creativity, the artistic attitude many people have. It’s so colorful and vibrant. I had a lovely studio for myself for a week, full of artwork. The windows didn’t close very well, but with the balmy weather it was not an issue. And the air smelled surprisingly fresher than in Antwerp where I live.

My two hosts became friends and we decided to go together to my friends’ place at the beach in Oaxaca. I had a more than relaxing time in Mazunte, in a smartly designed hut on a cliff overlooking the sea. I can’t wait to go back. But the highlight still had to come. On a sunny morning we left with some more friends I had made in meantime, direction Oaxaca City, across the mountains. I’ve never seen such a colorful, pretty, pedestrian friendly, lovely, old colonial city, full of creativity, great food, cool bars and good vibes.

We stayed a week. It might sound a lot for a city, but actually it was not. We did so many things: visiting markets full of exotic ingredients such as grasshoppers and endless varieties of chilies, learning how to cook moles from a local chef, venturing into the local art scene, visiting some fabulous archeological sites like Monte Alban, bathing at the petrified waterfalls of Hierve del Agua.

Mezcalleria Los Amantes

Mezcalleria Los Amantes

I discovered Mezcal, which is like Tequila, made from the agave plant. Tequila is actually a Mezcal made from the blue agave. There is a saying attributed to Oaxaca regarding the drink: “para todo mal, mezcal, y para todo bien también” (“for all bad, mezcal, for all good, as well”). I’d never been crazy about Tequila, but maybe it was the setting where I had my first Mezcal that really did the trick. It was a stylish little, pastel green painted place, called Mezcalleria Los Amantes, stocked with huge bottles of Mezcal and a young humorous girl as bar tender, dim light in the place.  It might have been new, done by a smart person, but it looked like it had been there for ages. Ever since, I try to get good Mezcal in liquor stores in Belgium, but it never tastes like in that place. I regret not having gone back the next year already, not just for the Mezcal, but for all the creative energy. It’s one of the places where I hope to stay for a longer period. When is the next flight?

Hierve del agua

Hierve del Agua

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